


O Christmas Tree

by Mimsys



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Canon depictions or mentions of:, Child Neglect, Christmas, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Neglect, xmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 21:41:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2827034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mimsys/pseuds/Mimsys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam was the only one of them who had many fond childhood memories of Christmas. Natasha had the Red Room, winters spent huddling with other girls for warmth and yanking away when their handlers could see, cold nights spent sparring or running just to keep themselves warm. Steve had been sick most winters. When his father had been alive, he and his mother had hid in their rooms, sometimes even leaving the house and braving the cold instead of having to face Steve’s father after he drank. Even after his father died, his mother had never been able to afford nice meals or presents to go under the tree, not with all the medicine Steve needed just to make it through the winter. And after his mother died… well, he hadn’t had any reason to celebrate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	O Christmas Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags for trigger warnings

Sam was the only one of them who had many fond childhood memories of Christmas. Natasha had the Red Room, winters spent huddling with other girls for warmth and yanking away when their handlers could see, cold nights spent sparring or running just to keep themselves warm. Steve had been sick most winters. When his father had been alive, he and his mother had hid in their rooms, sometimes even leaving the house and braving the cold instead of having to face Steve’s father after he drank. Even after his father died, his mother had never been able to afford nice meals or presents to go under the tree, not with all the medicine Steve needed just to make it through the winter. And after his mother died… well, he hadn’t had any reason to celebrate.

Sam didn’t seem to understand, just frowned at them when they tensed up when he mentioned celebrating, furrowed his brow in confusion when Steve wouldn’t go into any room that was decorated. Once, Steve left dinner halfway through dinner when Sam pulled out a bottle of wine. Sam had stood, ready to follow after him, but Natasha just rested one small hand on his dark arm and shook her head. “I’ll look after him. You stay here. Finish eating.” And then she’d left too, and Sam hadn’t felt so alone since the two of them crashed into his life over a year before.

Sam finished eating even though the food was tasteless on his tongue and cleaned up the table, putting away the leftovers. He puttered around the kitchen, cleaning and running a load of dishes and trying to keep busy, but crept down the hallways towards their shared room an hour later. He knocked, something he’d never had to do before, and then pushed it open. “Steve?”

The blond was curled up on the bed, blankets tucked tightly around him but hardly hiding how the Super Soldier trembled. His head rested in Natasha’s lap and the assassin stroked his hands through his hair; she looked up when Sam entered, expression neutral but drawn with worry. Sam crawled into the bed, silent when he saw pain in the eyes of the two people he cared about most in the world, and pulled Steve into his arms, slotting himself against the larger man. “I’m sorry.”

The Avenger pressed his nose against the crook of Sam’s shoulder, murmuring so softly that Sam had to strain to hear him. “We made ornaments at school once, little snowflakes made of cut paper and cardboard and coated with glitter. I brought it into the house and my mom hung it up in the kitchen because my dad wouldn’t let us have a tree, said it was a waste of money. He came home early, said work was slow during the holidays, and it was obvious that he’d been drinking. He saw the ornament, ripped it down. When I tried to scoop it up, to try to salvage it, he crushed it beneath his boot. And when I cried, he threw me across the room.”

Natasha spoke next, moving one hand from Steve’s hair to move it to Sam’s shoulder. “Once I was free of the Red Room, I didn’t know what to do with myself during the holidays. I didn’t have a home, didn’t have a family, and all the bright lights and cheerful songs just reminded me of those facts. I didn’t want to be alone, but I couldn’t pretend to be anything else. Not when everyone else had friends and families and lovers… and I just had my broken, empty past. It was cold, and I was alone. I know I’m not alone anymore, but it’s hard to forget those years.”

It felt like it was Sam’s turn to talk, for him to tell them that he understood, but the man realized for the first time… that he really didn’t. He’d pledged his heart to an assassin and a solider with PTSD and never thought about what that entailed. “I love you.” He said instead, because he did, and could feel Steve tense in his arms. “I love you two so much. I won’t say I know how you feel, because I don’t, but I hope you know that I’ll always be here to help you through it.”

Natasha moved out from under Steve’s head, sliding a pillow in her place, and then settled down on the other side of him so that the blond was bracketed by his lovers. The redheaded Avenger pressed kisses to the back of Steve’s neck, nuzzling against his shoulder, and he relaxed slowly, swallowing hard as if he were trying not to cry. “There we go, soldier; you’re not alone.”

That night, they fell asleep curled around Steve; the next morning, the super soldier left the bed first and made them pancakes, waking his lovers to supply them with breakfast in bed. And then after they ate, they talked. “I can take down the Christmas decorations, if you’d like.” Sam offered, wishing he’d thought to ask before putting them up. “It’s not as important as you.” The two Avengers spoke between themselves in a serious of sharp looks and equally sharp nods. “Alright, I’m not telepathic; what’s the consensus?”

“We’d like to make new memories to help ease some of the old ones.” Natasha answered, watching both of her men for their reactions. “And as long as you’re ready to give us some space when we need it and helps sweep up the mess when we drop the gingerbread cookies or throw books at the lights because they’re strange and unwelcome and remind us of times we’d rather forget… as long as you’re there for us, it’s worth the risk and the memories.”

“You’re worth it.” Steve added, and then they all shared kisses that tasted like syrup.

Sam was glad to report that they hadn’t broken a single light and that the most upsetting triggers had been handled quickly and would never appear in their home again. And if his lovers threw _The Little Match Girl_ in the fire, well, he should have expected it. It was a good Christmas, all and all.


End file.
